Hunting for Dragons
by Socrates7727
Summary: Written for the IWSC Summer Camp! Aurors on the case, Draco Malfoy has been missing for almost a year now. Harry is going to find him, no matter what it takes. Mentions of toxic/abusive relationship.


AN I do not own HP or any of the characters! Written for the IWSC Summer Camp!

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Story Title: Hunting for Dragons

Week 3: Scavenger Hunt (100 points). Creativity is a scavenger hunt. It's your obligation to pay attention to clues, to the thing that gives you that little tweak.

Prompt: Write about the Aurors on a case.

Word Count: 1514

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Harry was definitely not supposed to spend seventy-five percent of his time pouring over documents and cross referencing evidence for a case that wasn't even his. He had other cases he should have been working on, and they were not small or insignificant by any means. But, he still found himself always circling back to this one. Case B4286, aka Project Dragon Hunter.

It was a compulsion, now, to always come back to Project Dragon Hunter no matter what the day had held or what tomorrow promised. Ron called it an obsession, and refused to help, but that only made Harry ten times more motivated. No one else understood, and he didn't need them to.

Draco Malfoy had been missing for eleven months—almost a year—and had left absolutely nothing behind to indicate where he'd gone. No suicide note, no body, no signs of a struggle, and nothing missing. The case had been filed as a parole violation for Narcissa, tucked into the footnotes of some piece of paper that no one would ever read. It had been meant to disappear, right along with Draco.

Harry had caught it, though, because he'd been keeping an eye on Narcissa ever since the trials. He read everything with her name even haphazardly attached to it, and he poured over the parole violation form as soon as it was filed. It was because of him that Project Dragon Hunter even existed.

The case had been taken from him as soon as Kingsley had found out it was detracting from his usual work, but that hadn't kept him off of it. For almost a year now, Harry had spent every waking moment that he could devoted to finding Draco. He'd studied every aspect of the blond's life. He'd interviewed his mother, and visited his father in Azkaban.

After two months, he'd gotten a warrant and had been granted access to all of his former rival's belongings, including most of Malfoy Manor. He'd sat down with Narcisssa for tea almost every Sunday, and he'd learned things he'd never dreamed of learning.

For instance, Draco was afraid of heights. Harry had originally scoffed, thinking Narcissa had meant it as a joke, but she'd been deadly serious. Apparently, the blond didn't trust buildings or magic carpets or airplanes, if he even knew what those were—he didn't trust anything except his own instincts, which was what let him be comfortable on a broom.

He'd asked about Lucius as a potential witness or source for the case. That had been a mistake, though, and it had taken three weeks for him to wear Narcissa down to the point that she would share, over a pot of chai tea, why Lucius was never someone Draco would turn to if he was on the run.

_Lucius had his flaws as a father_. She'd said it so casually, like she'd resigned herself to it years ago, but the implication was there. Harry had seen some of the pressure Draco had been placed under during their final years at Hogwarts, but he'd never once called their relationship into question. Apparently, he should have.

Slowly, as Harry became less of an Auror and more of a friend to Narcissa, he learned more. The Malfoys were very private people and, once Harry was kicked from the case, he'd learned that they had every reason to be. Narcissa had never used the word abusive, but she hadn't needed to. It was in the shaking of her hands and the way she guarded herself, as if a mere conversation might erupt into a beating. Harry knew that fear better than anyone.

Draco had been missing for four months when Harry found the first diary. It was layered in so many protection and coding spells that Harry had almost taken it to Hermione for help, but he'd wanted to keep this a secret. He wanted to keep Draco's secrets as a secret.

No matter how he braced himself, Harry was not prepared to read the horror novel that Draco had so diligently penned for him. It took weeks, but he read every page and committed them to memory. Draco had lived through hell. A different kind of hell, maybe, but hell nevertheless and Harry only became more anxious to find him. He felt like he knew the blond now, or like they may not be so different after all.

They found him four days before the one year anniversary of his disappearance. So many people had said he'd just run off, or that he'd killed himself out of guilt, that most of the department had given up on the case—but not Harry. Harry had obsessed, he'd pulled all-nighters, and he'd worked himself to death for almost a year. His reward, however, was worth it.

The basement was small and dingy at best, resembling a sewer tunnel that had been blocked at both ends. It smelled like one too. Nevertheless, Harry had broken the window and snuck in alone, without backup, and without any regard for his own safety. This was the last place to check, and Kingsley had refused to put any more men on the case. That Death Eater prejudice reared its ugly head.

But, Harry slid into the basement and immediately saw the gouges in the door leading upstairs. They were low, and tinged a rusty sort of brown that looked remarkably like dried blood, but what really gave it away was the fingernail sticking out of it. Someone had tried to claw their way through the door.

He advanced carefully, very aware that he was alone and that this could be a trap, but something in his gut said this was the right place. It had to be. Everything from his job to his sanity was riding on this. Besides, it made sense, didn't it? The wife of a Death Eater who had been executed due, in part, to Draco's testimony. It wasn't the strongest of motives, but Harry had already investigated those and they'd been nothing but dead ends. This had to be the right place.

Harry knew the second he saw the chains that his suspicions were right. Every clue, every centimeter of Draco's life had led him to this spot and he only prayed that it would be enough. Cautiously, he approached the figure huddled in the corner.

"Draco?" Immediately, a head snapped up and Harry couldn't recognize the hair beneath the dirt but those eyes were unforgettable. His chest swelled with relief.

"Get away from me." It was weak and scratchy but Harry was already moving, unlocking the shackles that he could and burning off the ones that he couldn't. Draco arched away from his hands, but otherwise didn't respond.

"Draco, hey, it's me Harry. Potter, I mean. Listen, I'm going to get you out of here, okay?" Those gorgeous, deep grey eyes settled on him as if Draco couldn't really see him.

"Potter." Not a question, but Harry was still quick to nod as he skimmed the blond's skin for injuries. He'd been beaten, but he would live.

"Yeah, it's okay now, see? You're going to be fine, and we're going to get you to the hospital and then to see your mother, okay?" Draco might have said something about his mother, then, but Harry wasn't listening. He was straining to hear any sign of movement on the other side of the door and he was trying as hard as he could to get Draco to his feet. When that didn't work, he levitated them both back out of the tiny window.

"Hey, we're going to be okay, Draco. Listen to me, I know you're afraid of heights but I don't have any backup so my broom is pretty much our only escape plan. I can knock you out, if you want, but—" Draco shook his head, eyes closed and hands fisting Harry's shirt.

"I trust you." In that moment, Harry knew he'd made the right choice. Every single night that he'd slaved over this case and every single Sunday he'd spent listening to stories with Narcissa had all been building up to this. To Draco Malfoy, the most private and closed off person he'd ever met, slouched in his arms and saying: _I trust you._

After a year of imprisonment and torture, and after seven years of bitter rivalry, Draco trusted him. And, looking down at that pale face, Harry smiled. Because this was the Draco that he'd learned from thousands of diary pages and hours of stories. This was the Draco that lived in the bedroom Harry had practically invaded. This was the Draco who had clung to him as they flew, barely escaping the flames of the FyreFiend This was the Draco who was real, who was hurt, and who was putting his life in Harry's hands without even blinking.

"Let's get you to St. Mungo's," he murmured, settling the blond into place in front of him on his broom. "And then we'll get your statement, along with a few other things. Then, finally, we might be able to close your case."

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Thank you so much for reading!


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